


Of Hidden Princes (and princesses)

by SomeKindofUnicorn



Series: To Love A Sword [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Braavos, Established Relationship, F/M, Lyanna Stark Lives, POV Female Character, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeKindofUnicorn/pseuds/SomeKindofUnicorn
Summary: An AU where Lyanna escaped the Tower of Joy and lives in Braavos with Arthur Dayne and Jon. One morning, she finds two lost Targaryen children who've just been thrown out from a house with a red door.





	Of Hidden Princes (and princesses)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ASOIAF fic, although I've been in the fandom for a long time. It's been a long time since I've posted fic of any kind, so I'm definitely open to feedback. This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. It might be the prologue to something longer, but for now it's a stand alone snapshot of what might have been. 
> 
> Jon is called Jon because I thought it would be too confusing to call him anything else.

Lyanna did not love Braavos. She had grown up in the wild north, in Winterfell, riding in the Wolfswood, and out over wild moors. The largest human settlement had been the Wintertown, and for most seasons it was really barely more than a market square and a few streets. There were no cities in the north, and Lyanna had never even seen one from a distance, before Braavos.

There were no trees, or open green spaces, and few people could afford to keep horses here. In most places, the houses crowded in tight over little cobbled alleyways where you could barely see the sky. She had to twist and turn on herself before bursting out on some little bridge over a canal or wide-open market square. The smell of salt clung to Braavos, but there were worse stenches too, and many people used the canals like sewers.

But Arthur had been right. In a city, people can become lost as they cannot in a small country town, and at least Braavos was not so hot as some of the other free cities. Sometimes, when the morning mist had crept up the canals, or she came into a small patch of unexpected sunlight, she even found herself liking the city. They were safe here, and comfortable, and that was what mattered.

They had a nice enough house, bought with money Ned had sent ahead of them to the Iron Bank. Lyanna had told him they would manage, but he had insisted, sending them gold the north could ill afford to spare that soon after the rebellion. It had bought them a house for a well to do family, with a little courtyard that caught the sun, and nicely appointed quarters for the family, and even a small hall for entertaining guests, though they never used it.

They could not rely on money from Winterfell for survival. If Ned sent too much, people would grow suspicious and the North was not rich. To survive, Arthur took work as a sellsword. It hurt Lyanna that he did, for she felt it was beneath the finest knight of all Westeros. He did not even take his sword with him, or his finest armour. He said it was not worth the risk. Ned and Howland Reed had told all of Westeros they were dead, but if some sellsword were to grow famous wielding Dawn, then it would draw the wrong kind of attention. So, Arthur was often gone, dressed in mail and leather, and carrying an axe and a shield, guarding some merchant caravan against bandits.

That just left her and Jon, and their few servants. They had a cook, who came in by the day and was paid, and two maids, who had come from poor families in the lower part of the city and worked in the house in exchange for lodgings and food. There had been a nursemaid for a while, but Jon was five now, and though she and Arthur lived like husband and wife when he was home, there had been no more children. Jon’s birth had been messy, and she had nearly died. The midwives thought she would not quicken again easily. And Arthur was often away.

He was due home soon. Lyanna knew all the routes of the merchant caravans he went with. Usually, she could time his return home to the day, even to the hour, but winter was drawing in, and the roads would be slower now. The merchant had paid double, to find men who would go out and risk getting caught in the snows. Arthur might have been from Dorne, but he was no soft southron, and they needed the coin. They had some, put by, in a banking house, and a little more invested in some enterprises within the city. Come winter, they would be trapped in the city, and food and wood would become scarce and more expensive.

There was a chill in the air, that morning, and a light snow had fallen overnight. It was already turning to slush, as she and Jon went to the market, dressed in warm wool, long leather boots and cloaks lined with rabbit fur. She had told Arthur they did not need such luxuries, and for herself, she would have refused it, but the cloak looked well on Jon, and might last him all winter. She fastened it a little tighter at his throat and kissed the top of his head.

“We must go to the market.” She told him, “It is icy out still, so hold my hand and be careful not to slip.”

Jon nodded, “Yes, mama.”

He was such a sweet, serious boy, and in truth she saw little of his father in him. Little of her as well, except for his looks. If anyone, he reminded her of Ned, the uncle he had not seen since he was a babe. Or maybe, he was just himself.

The streets got busier, as they drew closer to the market. Most families from their part of the city would have sent out a maid, or a cook, but Lyanna liked to go herself. There were less stalls selling food than there had been, this time last year, and more people pawning their finery. She wanted meat, today, for Arthur’s return. Proper meat, not fish, like they usually had. She bought a string of sausages and a brace of grouse that would keep even if her were a few days late. It was too much, really, but it was the sort of thing they did for each other, when they could.

She bought a few herbs too, that cook could bake into bread, or flavour the grouse with and a wheel of hard, white cheese. Then, they came upon a stall selling live chickens. The birds looked a little underfed but mostly strong and hardy. The seller was asking less for a live chicken than the next stall down wanted for a dead one, so Lyanna bought three with black-blue feathers and an angry look in their eyes.

It was hard to carry the chickens home, even with Jon carrying the cheese and sausages. She balanced the cage on her shoulder, cursing as the chickens squawked and made a mess on her fine cloak. The streets away from the market grew narrower. The houses here had flaking plaster, and some of the brickwork showed through. Some of the woodwork was almost rotting through. She did not like the dark alleys, here, and kept a hand on the dagger at her belt.

As they got closer to home, the streets widened again, enough that they could see the sky. The houses here were finer, painted with murals, and sometimes adorned with statues. The streets smelt a little less, too. In Braavos, you could always smell the salt water, but sometimes it was mixed with the stench of waste and humanity. The people here were better dressed, and Lyanna began to relax.

They were about a street away from home, when they saw the children.

Jon saw them first. “Mama,” He said, tugging at her sleeve and pointing.

There were two of them, the elder sheltering the younger under his cloak against the bitter wind. She was crying into him, but his eyes were hard and cold and they shone like amethysts. Both of them were paler than almost any human she had ever seen, except for one. The younger child had hair like spun silver. The older boy’s hair was more of a white-gold, cut to his shoulders, but his face had a long nose, and high sweeping cheekbones that looked too familiar. Looking at them, it felt like Lyanna’s stomach had dropped from her body.

There had been a man with a face like that once, with dark violet eyes and hair the colour of moonlight. A man who could sing more beautifully than anyone mortal had a right to. A man who had made her a thousand promises, given her a crown of flowers and taken her away from everything she had ever known. That man was Jon’s father, and she did not like to think of him, or his family.

There had been rumours about them in Braavos, though and Lyanna was always careful to listen to the rumours. She was always worried someone might have recognised her or Arthur. Hardly anyone knew about Jon, only Ned and the few people he had told, and Ashara Dayne, who was dead now. There had been a ship, though, with a crew, that had carried them to Braavos. The crew did not know who they were, but perhaps someone would be clever enough to put together a northern lady with a new babe and a fleeing knight with a magical sword.

If there were rumours about her and Arthur in Braavos, Lyanna had not heard them yet. The only rumours of Targaryens she heard were of Ser Willem Darry and his two wards. Pretty children with hair like moonlight and bright, purple eyes. They children were rarely seen, but it was almost an open secret that Ser Willem had smuggled the prince and his mother from Dragonstone. The rumours said that the queen had given birth to a daughter in a violent storm and not survived for long afterwards.

Now, they were sitting out in the snow, looking cold and afraid. It had to be them. Something was wrong. She had heard all the whispers, but few people claimed to have actually seen them in the flesh. If they lived near her, which did make sense, she had certainly never seen them. Ser Willem was good at keeping them indoors, away from those who might wish to do them harm. And yet here they were on the street.

She walked over to them, Jon hiding a little behind her skirts, “Are you well?”

The boy looked up at her, trying to decide whether to trust her or not. He was younger than she had first thought, no more than eleven or twelve, and his sister was younger than Jon. She had seen four namedays, perhaps, but no more.

“I know who you are.” She told him, “And I think you are right to be afraid of strangers. But it is cold out here, and you will freeze if you spend a night out in the snow. If you come with me, I will try and help you.”

The boy, Viserys was his name, she remembered, looked up at her. His face was torn. He was so desperate to trust, but he was afraid.

“Please,” Whispered the girl, “It’s cold, and I’m hungry.” Her face was stained with tears.

Viserys chewed his lip a little.

“It’s the house on Whitebridge row, with the blue door.” She told them.

“Wait.” Said Viserys, “We’ll come.”

He lifted his sister onto his hip, keeping his cloak wrapped about the both of them, and followed, looking at the ground.

It did not take long to reach the house. Lyanna left the chickens in the charge of the maids, and the food in charge of the cook. She kept the children out of sight, but she did have to tell the cook to make a little extra food for the evening meal.

“Is M’lord due back, then?” Asked cook.

“Maybe.” Said Lyanna, “And maybe he will be bringing a friend. Do not cook the grouse, though, until you know he is here, but perhaps we could have some sausages, in a stew, or some such?”

“As my lady wishes.” Said cook, “My brother’s a fisherman, you know, and he has a good haul of shellfish, well iced, he could bring for my ladyship tomorrow.”

Lyanna mentally counted her coins, and then nodded, “If it’s well priced.”

Cook curtseyed, and Lyanna took her leave.

The children were upstairs, in the solar that her and Arthur always kept private. It was where he kept Dawn, and his Kingsguard armour, and Lyanna kept a few treasures of her own. The servants knew better than to come into that room. She even cleaned it herself. Sometimes. Which was why the seats were a little dusty and the fire sputtered a little in the grate.

She’d brought up some bread and cheese and fruit from the kitchen, and gave it to all the children, “There will be a stew in an hour or two. Will this keep you until then?”

Viserys could not answer her question, for his mouth was already filled with bread. She smiled.

“I’ll fetch a little more.”

The poor Targaryen children were hungry, and Lyanna let them eat their fill before saying anything at all.

“How did you know who we were?” Asked Viserys, finally, his mouth set in a thin, accusing line.

“I knew your brother once.” She replied, “A long time ago.”

“You’re from Westeros.” He nodded, “And highborn?”

“My name is Lyanna Stark.” She said, carefully. She did not know exactly what the children had been told.

Viserys frowned a little, “We heard you were dead. You, and the babe.”

He looked suspiciously at Jon.

“I ran away.” She replied, “It seemed safer than staying. I was lucky. I had Ser Arthur Dayne to help me.”

“Ser Arthur?” Viserys’ voice brightened, in spite of himself.

Lyanna nodded, “He is away, but he should return, tonight, or tomorrow, or soon.”

“Ser Willem Darry saved us.” Piped up the girl. She had been born after Lyanna had left the Seven Kingdoms. She did not even know her name, “But he died, and the servants turned us out. We hid in the alleys for two nights.”

“Oh, sweetling.” Lyanna opened her arms to the girl, and she came, sitting on her lap and burying her head in the warmth of Lyanna’s embrace.

“Her name’s Daenerys.” Said Viserys, “But we call her Dany.”

“Dany.” Said Lyanna, stroking her hair, “She’s very young, isn’t she?”

Viserys nodded, “I kept some gems back, I couldn’t sell them. The merchants thought we stole them.”

“That was a sensible thing to do.” Lyanna told him, “Perhaps I could help you with them.”

Just then, there was the sound of the main door opening. Lyanna tensed, despite herself and sprang up.

“Go and sit with your brother.”

In the chest, where Ser Arthur kept Dawn, there was another sword, made small enough for a lady. Lyanna drew it now, staring at the door.

“If it is not Ser Arthur, you must run.” She told them all, passing her coin purse to Viserys, “Go to the Inn of the Red Ship, down by the docks. I will find you there, or Ser Arthur will.”

Viserys looked at her.

“Do you know how to use that?” He asked.

“Do you?” She replied.

He shook his head, shamefaced, “Ser Willem was too old to train me.”

“Well then.” She replied.

 

The door to the solar opened slowly, and Lyanna held her guard.

When she saw Ser Arthur’s face, her whole body relaxed.

“My love, Lya, what on earth?” He asked.

She did not answer straight away, looking him over instead. He looked well. His ringmail was not damaged, nor was his russet coloured cloak. He was a handsome man still, with his square jaw and fighter’s build. He wore his dark hair short these days, and there was a softness in his deep blue eyes. She loved him, almost as much as she loved Jon.

He looked past her then, and saw the children, and dropped to one knee.

“Your Highness.”

Viserys blinked in shock. Lyanna wondered how long it had been since someone had called him that.

“Ser Arthur.” Replied Viserys, “Please, you may rise.”

“Viserys,” Asked Dany, in a small voice, “Why did he bow to us?”

“Because I am a prince, and you are a princess.” Viserys replied, “That is what being a Targaryen means.”

Again, his eyes slipped to Jon. At least he wasn’t sure. Jon could be anyone’s son. He had her look, and his hair was only a little darker. He could have been Arthur’s son. There was little in him that was not Stark, except maybe the shade of his skin. Lyanna had always been glad for that. If he had born with silver hair or violet eyes, hiding him would have been so much harder.

“Your highness,” Said Arthur, again, “I swear to you that while you are under my roof, no harm shall befall you or your sister.”

Viserys nodded.

He knew Arthur, Lyanna realised. She had never met the prince, but of course he had been at court with Arthur as a child. Viserys would trust him, and that could only be to the good.

 

That night, Viserys and Dany shared the guest bed, the one that no-one had slept in since they had lived in the house. And Lyanna shared Arthur’s bed.

“What do we do?” She asked, “I couldn’t leave them out there in the snow. And they’re all alone and Viserys is so afraid.”

Arthur kissed her forehead, “I know you couldn’t. You have a soft heart, my love.”

“You wouldn’t have left them either.” She said, kissing his shoulder where her head lay.

He squeezed her side, “No. But perhaps for different reasons to you. I was sworn to protect their family, once. I have broken every vow but that one.”

“And you kept that one for love.” Replied Lyanna, smiling.

“Indeed.” Said Ser Arthur, kissing her softly.

“We keep them safe, I suppose.” Said Ser Arthur, “You weren’t thinking of doing anything else, were you?”

“What?” Asked Lyanna, “Like putting them on the throne?”

Arthur shrugged, “You might have dreamed it once, when-“

She cut him off, “They’re children. Even if we could somehow mount a rebellion, just the two of us, what good would it do to start another war and put a child king on the throne? Robert Baratheon was not the man I wanted to marry, but I have not heard he is a bad king… nor mad. And I’d be betraying my brother, who has done so much for us.”

“Indeed.” Said Arthur, “Dorne might rise for them, though they are not Elia’s children. Oberyn at least will burn for revenge, and there was…”

“Go on,” Said Lyanna, frowning.

“There was a marriage pact, made in secret, between Viserys and Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne.” Arthur said.

Lyanna nodded, “But that was before Daenerys was born.”

“Indeed.” Said Arthur, “And Viserys might view it as his duty to marry his sister, for the bloodline.”

“Anyway, the Vale and the North and the Stormlands are all against them, the Riverlands and the Westerlands too, probably, now that Robert has married a Lannister.” Said Lyanna, “And the Reach would not ally with Dorne.”

“So, their cause is hopeless.” Agreed Arthur,he ruffled her hair, “Where did you learn to think like a general?”

“I’m not stupid,” She replied, “It’s not only men who know about politics.”

Arthur laughed, “No, wolf-girl, it’s not.”

“We keep them safe.” Said Lyanna, “We dye their hair. We leave Braavos for some other city. We keep them safe, like we’ve done with Jon.”

Arthur smiled, “And when Viserys is a man grown?”

“He can choose his own path then.” Replied Lyanna, “If he wants to marry Arianne Martell, or try to raise a rebellion… well, that is his choice. But they both deserve to grow up safe and warm and… loved.”

Arthur kissed her again, “We will do our best.”


End file.
